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Village Calling Novella 1: Empthasis
Note From Author: This very drawn out, character driven book series, follows eight children on they're various adventures that both enlightened and disturbed them throughout their village. This, along with my upcoming novella The Woodland Children, are my most passionate novels to date. This is the longest book I'm ever going to write consisting of eight parts, having more than 1000 pages. Each book will be in length of how I choose, in hopes that someone can take away more than enjoyment but something of human and emotional value away from it.
This is also the first book that I've ever written that doesn't have a particular synopsis. It's just an emotional drive and frequent strings of various expressions told through the eyes of the characters and the beauty of both imaginatively fantastical and realistic storytelling that again is character driven and I am very pleased to show everybody a preview. I would love to publish the full book on the app when finished but this could take years and I'm hoping to publish it one day. Thank you everyone! Any criticisms (negative or positive) please let me know in the comments, your feedback is greatly appreciated and can be a continious drive for improvement. Thank you :)
Part One
June-October 1823
Book / Novella 1: Empthasis
The flowers stripped down their innocence to a bleakly nervous tension of astoundingly depressive state within a loss of all previously included positive morales. The village of Amberton, stood and remained in utterly continious stillness within it's boundaries of interestingly intriguing stories and peculiarly mysterious outcomes of whatever matter in both full range of sight and full view of any human soul who could either happily visit or grudgingly oppose it. Just ahead of the trees lay an enormous manor of the highest quality but had both exceedingly and troubling secretive chatter that consisted of nothing more than neglectful absence in regard that one may go into an upsetting realm of expressing a certain emotion known what was known to one's private life and private matters as depressingly unbareable. Mr. Ambertob of the routinley kept and neatly situated Amberton Manor and Estate sat up right, living inside his own intrusive mindset of frequently spanning, both monstrously repetitive and aganosingly deceiving, often misinterpreted disturbances. He still proceeded to carry on walking quietly into his book lounge that had as much weight and growth as Gulliver's Travels himself, it was shelved with endless realms of creativeness and storytelling. There was not a single empty space on the dizziness of the room if one was to turn round in one swift motion. There were so many novellas that you might have to tilt your head to a certain angle, including upside down, to be in full view of every story on the shelf. He continued turning from one page to thenother as he settled down in the book longue of the estate, this was his extremely private area of observation and escapism, being invested in the intriguing creativity of the narrative that thankfully treaded astoundingly imaginative boundaries. In his own way, Mr. Amberton was a book critic. He certainly had a passion for the matter, as the crackling fire bursted continious spurts of light orange from it's flames, often locating itself in a noticeably miniscule string of everlasting spines of each poignant marking, proving it had not only depth but a sincerely passionate history, behind each chapter of each page and thats where Mr. Amberton's both unbreajble and inescapable passion for the matter, came into play. He had always tried his very hardest and very best to keep each and every single one rightfully and historically as preserved as was humanley possible in the present time period with his delightfully wonderful eyes for he was a man with dreams and unique ambition. His personality was one of that who wanted to be left alone, not because of a hatred for other souls but for hatred of what they said as well as the mockery of his social awkwardness but he loved being privative, there was no one you disliked to be in an upsetting encounter with, no one to bother you, you only did what you ever so much pleased and endeared. The flowers bloomed the next morning, transcending it's gloriously wonderful peddles of calm, countryside and nutriatic life within no thirst for a need to be in denial of guilt, anger, grief and despair for flowers don't have to do that, in reason of Mr. Amberton's beliefs contrary to the very thought and idea that they can bring nothing but beauty in such a miserable world, the type that unimaginatively ugly and simple minded so-called "individuals" *the locals* perhaps needed all of, at least a tiny bit more. Perhaps then, they would be more inspirationally hopeful instead of both devastatingly and sickeningly cynical.
This is also the first book that I've ever written that doesn't have a particular synopsis. It's just an emotional drive and frequent strings of various expressions told through the eyes of the characters and the beauty of both imaginatively fantastical and realistic storytelling that again is character driven and I am very pleased to show everybody a preview. I would love to publish the full book on the app when finished but this could take years and I'm hoping to publish it one day. Thank you everyone! Any criticisms (negative or positive) please let me know in the comments, your feedback is greatly appreciated and can be a continious drive for improvement. Thank you :)
Part One
June-October 1823
Book / Novella 1: Empthasis
The flowers stripped down their innocence to a bleakly nervous tension of astoundingly depressive state within a loss of all previously included positive morales. The village of Amberton, stood and remained in utterly continious stillness within it's boundaries of interestingly intriguing stories and peculiarly mysterious outcomes of whatever matter in both full range of sight and full view of any human soul who could either happily visit or grudgingly oppose it. Just ahead of the trees lay an enormous manor of the highest quality but had both exceedingly and troubling secretive chatter that consisted of nothing more than neglectful absence in regard that one may go into an upsetting realm of expressing a certain emotion known what was known to one's private life and private matters as depressingly unbareable. Mr. Ambertob of the routinley kept and neatly situated Amberton Manor and Estate sat up right, living inside his own intrusive mindset of frequently spanning, both monstrously repetitive and aganosingly deceiving, often misinterpreted disturbances. He still proceeded to carry on walking quietly into his book lounge that had as much weight and growth as Gulliver's Travels himself, it was shelved with endless realms of creativeness and storytelling. There was not a single empty space on the dizziness of the room if one was to turn round in one swift motion. There were so many novellas that you might have to tilt your head to a certain angle, including upside down, to be in full view of every story on the shelf. He continued turning from one page to thenother as he settled down in the book longue of the estate, this was his extremely private area of observation and escapism, being invested in the intriguing creativity of the narrative that thankfully treaded astoundingly imaginative boundaries. In his own way, Mr. Amberton was a book critic. He certainly had a passion for the matter, as the crackling fire bursted continious spurts of light orange from it's flames, often locating itself in a noticeably miniscule string of everlasting spines of each poignant marking, proving it had not only depth but a sincerely passionate history, behind each chapter of each page and thats where Mr. Amberton's both unbreajble and inescapable passion for the matter, came into play. He had always tried his very hardest and very best to keep each and every single one rightfully and historically as preserved as was humanley possible in the present time period with his delightfully wonderful eyes for he was a man with dreams and unique ambition. His personality was one of that who wanted to be left alone, not because of a hatred for other souls but for hatred of what they said as well as the mockery of his social awkwardness but he loved being privative, there was no one you disliked to be in an upsetting encounter with, no one to bother you, you only did what you ever so much pleased and endeared. The flowers bloomed the next morning, transcending it's gloriously wonderful peddles of calm, countryside and nutriatic life within no thirst for a need to be in denial of guilt, anger, grief and despair for flowers don't have to do that, in reason of Mr. Amberton's beliefs contrary to the very thought and idea that they can bring nothing but beauty in such a miserable world, the type that unimaginatively ugly and simple minded so-called "individuals" *the locals* perhaps needed all of, at least a tiny bit more. Perhaps then, they would be more inspirationally hopeful instead of both devastatingly and sickeningly cynical.
